


when it's this dark (it's my favorite part)

by laratoncita



Series: je ne sais quoi (how you say, "voulez vous?") [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Candaulism, F/M, Making Out, Sex Club, Swingers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 21:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: "It was just past midnight in a private mansion off of Mulholland when I watched my first Minotaur get a blowjob." - Jen Yamato, "My Wild Night Inside L.A.'S Most VIP Sex Club"Elisa sets up something decidedly more low-key  for the two of them.





	when it's this dark (it's my favorite part)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisprobably](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisprobably/gifts).



> anon asked for more elisa-centric work but i'm rewatching a show referenced here so, heed the tags but also know there's nothing super explicit to be found :) title is from "slide" by calvin harris bc i love frank ocean. ALSO, let it be known that i love claude giroux and mean no harm by the reference kent makes.

Elisa’s dress is completely sheer.

In the dark-lit rooms of this Los Angeles apartment it’s not easy to tell – there has to be enough light, enough glare, to shine through the thin black fabric. She’s wearing high-waisted briefs underneath, with the sleeves reaching her delicate wrists. She has a silver choker on. Her nipples are a dusky brown.

The rules are like this: kissing anyone of any gender is allowed. Hands over shirts are allowed. Anything up a dress or down a pair of pants is strictly off limits. These are conditions Kent is more than eager to adhere to, and based off the glint in Elisa’s eyes as she watches him from the other side of the room, it works for her too.

LA is terrifying. Kent is not a fan of the their team or their population, but Elisa has learned to love it. She even had a boyfriend down here in high school, she told him. They were serious, the way children are when they realize that happy endings are feasible. All they need is the right mindset. Kent remembers having that epiphany and knowing, immediately, that he couldn’t do it (even if he tried). Her boyfriend ended up dead the month after he started university.

Yet here she is nearly two years later, her hair cut into a bob. Her cat-eye is immaculate, lipstick without a smudge. Four months is too soon to know he’s in love but Kent thinks he’s pretty damn close.

He thinks of her in the morning when she spends the weekend with him. How her hair starts to curl when she doesn’t brush it. The way she starfishes on the bed, Kit curled up on her stomach while he teeters at the edge. His bathroom smells like her even when she’s not there; like coconut and almonds. His fridge always has mochi ice cream in it, on the off-chance she gets out of work early on a Friday and decides to surprise him.

That evening she put in her silver hoops and applied silver eyeliner, too. She rubbed eucalyptus perfume behind her ears and at her collarbone and wrists. Her eyes tracked him as he put on a light blue suit, the top button of his cream-colored dress shirt undone. He’s wearing a rose-gold chain, hair slicked back like his grandpa used to have it back in Aguascalientes, when he had first married his grandmother.

Elisa may not be twenty-one yet but she’s got a cotton candy champagne cocktail in hand, her eyes hungrily watching him. It’s maybe eleven, things slowly but surely starting to heat up. There are two or three couples, perhaps a triad or two, already kissing each other, hands creeping up thighs and over chests. It’s like something out of a Billie Piper series, slow and sensual and more than worth the cover fee. They’re playing Syd the Kid. Kent takes a seat and watches Elisa slowly circle the room.

He wonders, vaguely, if this is something she’ll want to do regularly. He’d be lying if it didn’t turn him on at all; there’s a low thrum of arousal going through him, one that could easily be intensified. Kent knows he’s not old by any means, but something about this relationship makes him feel young again. Not young like how it was with Jack – the confusion and the desperate want. Young like how he should have spent his first few years in the NHL, maybe, carefree and eager for the next day. In the years preceding his captainship his life was nothing but hockey. Afterwards, it expanded to include Kit and the friends he finally allowed into his life. Swoops was the only one who had even a modicum of knowledge surrounding those Before years, and even that was limited; Kent is never going to be the kind of person to out someone without their knowledge.

Elisa makes him want to drop money on things like go-carts and art museums (she had said something about “alive bitches” while they were there and had to spend ten minutes explaining the joke to him. He doesn’t like anything besides Instagram, because Kit who deserves the attention), on shopping sprees at outlet stores and weird-flavored bubble tea. She wants the _cotidiano_ and the _de vez en cuando_ , too.

He knows what it looks like, from the outside looking in. Some young pretty thing shacking up with a hotshot hockey player. It was Giroux all over again.

But Kent hasn’t gotten her out of his head since the night they met. Hasn’t tried, doesn’t want to. She laughs too loud at whispered jokes and her mother is absolutely terrifying, despite how much she actually resembles the tattoo on her daughter’s back. Her friends are abrasive and sharp. Sometimes he feels like his out of his depth. But slowly, surely, he finds himself becoming embedded in her life as she does the same in his. His breath gets caught in his throat when he thinks about it.

Right now, though. Right now is one of those once-in-a-blue-moon nights. Those wild nights. She tied him up the last time she came to see him – blindfolded him, too. Feathers were involved. He still gets goosebumps thinking about it.

A sex party. This feels like something other people do, not NHL superstars. But of course Elisa knew the right person, or knew someone else who knew the right person, and now he’s sitting on some plush seat in a purple-lit room full of couples slowly but surely getting their hands on one another.

Elisa takes a seat at one of the pseudo-beds set up. It has sheer pink and blue bed curtains, another romantic touch in a room that Kent’s assuming will devolve into a sexcapade. She brushes her hair away from her face, and Kent sees how a few strands have gotten stuck to her mouth. The urge to kiss her is, as always, strong. She sees him watching and smirks, pout tantalizingly full. He leans back; lets his legs fall open. She hides her grin behind her glass.

Soon a woman approaches her. Her dress is sheer too, albeit with strategically placed flowers to offer some modesty. They converse briefly, and then the woman sits down, reaching out to place her hand on Elisa’s bare knee. Something like possessiveness coils in Kent’s belly, alongside the arousal. He’s okay with this, he knows how the night is going to play out. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s nervous, too. Nothing’s going to happen that you won’t enjoy, he tells himself.

The woman leans in close after a few minutes of conversation, and he watches as Elisa’s eyelids flutter. He smiles. Elisa’s straight; she told him once already, but she also admitted that she’ll kiss anyone if it means having fun. It had been a good conversation, come to think of it, the two of them in pajamas and in between rounds of sex.

The woman is lovely, her makeup a standard of the LA crowds. Her mouth is full and outlined with a dark liner, her eyeshadow gold and shimmery. Her hair is long and brown, and her eyebrows are strong. She’s taller than Elisa; Kent can tell despite the heels both are wearing. She sits with one arm bracing herself, so that she’s in Elisa’s space without being overbearing. It’s intimate. Kent bites his lip.

Her hand slides up Elisa’s thigh, skims up to her waist as they speak. Kent has done the same many times, when she’s stretched out underneath him during sex, or when she decides he should bench press her and they spend twenty minutes giggling at themselves. The woman leans in, and at the very last moment Elisa’s eyes slide to his, pupils blown.

 _Fuck_. Elisa’s an absolute angel. A blessing. His eventual downfall, he knows, because there’s no reason he should be getting hard watching his girlfriend makeout with someone else. The stranger’s hand starts to wander, cupping Elisa’s breast over the sheer material of her dress. When she thumbs at the nipple Elisa’s mouth falls open. She looks over at him while the woman turns her attention to Elisa’s neck, and there’s something like triumph in her eyes.

Now is not the time for reminiscing. And he’s not, not really. It’s just that sometimes Kent has to step back and look at what is his life truly is compared to what it was and remember that it’s truly amazing. He’s got someone he’s building something real with, he’s got a successful career. He has a therapist who gets him and who pushes him to be better. Kent, ten years ago, thought that either he or the person he loved would be dead by thirty. He has long-term plans now, he has a savings account, vacations he’s budgeting for. Elisa’s coming with him to visit his mother and sister later this week.

Elisa, on the bad days, recites Gabriela Mistral to him in bed. She holds him whether he’s happy or sad; they do face masks on Saturdays, they paint their toenails. He thinks he loves her, sometimes.

This was a good idea, Kent decides, watching as Elisa gets a healthy handful of ass. The months have been good. This life has been good. Growing up makes things easier.

.


End file.
